Frenched Series Bundle (35 page)

It’s not desire. It’s just nostalgia.

“Which would you like first?” Nick asked.

“Hmm, the gin maybe?” I accepted the glass of clear liquid he handed me and watched him choose the rye.

He held it up and smiled. “To friendship.”

“To friendship.”

We clinked glasses and took a sip, leaving enough so both of us would have a chance to taste them all, and for the next half hour, we chatted about safe topics and sampled the whiskey, rye, gin, and bourbon. We inquired after immediate family, laughed about Lick My Plate, and discussed the rebirth of Corktown with businesses like Two James and The Burger Bar. With each passing minute, I felt more at ease, more like I really was hanging out with an old friend and not a former lover. Part of that was likely due to the alcohol, but I thought as long as we kept the chatter casual and focused on the present, I could remain in possession of my wits, at least outwardly. I picked up the absinthe, which reminded me of Mia.

“Oh! Remember Mia?”

“Of course I do.”

“She’s getting married in two weeks. To this French guy who—”

“Lucas, I know. He owns The Green Hour.”

I pouted, feeling both robbed of the opportunity to deliver big news and somehow offended that he knew about something big happening in my life. I didn’t know anything about his life anymore, although it struck me right then that I wanted to.
It’s a shame we went so long without speaking. We should have done this sooner. I was too stubborn.
“You know Lucas?”

Nick shrugged. “Sure. He’s been in The Burger Bar a few times, and I’ve gone in The Green Hour too. Someone introduced us at some point. I saw Mia in there once.”

I froze. “You’ve seen Mia? She didn’t tell me.”
And I might have to kill her.

“Well, when I came in, she ducked out the back door so fast, she probably hoped I didn’t notice her. We didn’t talk, in other words.”

“Oh.”
I love you, Mia. Best friend ever.

“Lucas is a great guy. And The Green Hour is doing really well, I hear.”

I sipped the absinthe and handed it to Nick. “He is a great guy. And he’s crazy about Mia. They’re great for each other.”

“Nothing like us.” Nick’s eyes twinkled over the rim of the absinthe glass.

I smiled ruefully. “Nothing like us.”

Nick took a small sip. “This is nice, being friends.”

“It is, actually.”

“So,
friend
.” Nick set the glass down in the tray and propped his head in his hand. “Ask me a favor.”

My heartbeat got loud and clunky for a few seconds, so I silenced it with one more shot of rye. “All right.” Turning in my chair to face him, I braced my hands on my knees, took a deep breath, and gave him a brief rundown of the scene in my office today, complete with a description of Angelina, her reality show dreams, and her family connections.

Nick’s chin came off his hand, and he pretended to be shocked. “Wait a minute. You want me to cater a party at
Tony Whack’s
house?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know, Coco. Hoffa’s probably buried beneath that guy’s pool. This could be dangerous.”

“Don’t tease me, Nick. I really need you.”

“Hmmm. Sounds like it.” He leaned on the bar again. “So when is this party?”

“Next Saturday night. August fourteenth.”

Nick’s eyebrows shot up. “Next Saturday night Give a guy a little notice, why don’t you? I might have big plans next Saturday night. A date with a hot blonde. Maybe several of them.”

“Blondes aren’t your type,” I said without thinking.

“How do you know what my type is? Maybe I’ve changed.”

He was joking with me, but I wasn’t interested in playing around, not until he agreed to do the damn party. “Look, I know it’s short notice, and I’m sorry about that. She just came in today, and with Mia gone it’s only me to run things, and I told her I’d get her what she wanted without knowing she wanted you.”

He grinned. “Bet that was a real pisser, huh? When you heard my name? God, I’d have loved to have seen your face.”

“It was a bit of a shock,” I admitted.

“What happens if I say no?”

I shrugged. “Best case scenario, I lose a lot of money and Devine Events suffers shit publicity. Worst case, I end up next to Hoffa.”

“Do you need money, Coco?” The smile was gone, and his voice had lost its playful tone.

For a moment, I hesitated, wondering if I should let him in on my plans to buy a house. It was kind of personal, but then again, if we were going to be friends and I was asking for this big favor, I supposed I could be up front about why I needed the money so badly. “Yes, but it’s not what you think. I’m saving for a house, and there’s one that I want in particular. There’s going to be another offer on it, so my agent thinks I need to make an offer myself. I need the money for a down payment.”

“A house, huh?” He looked interested. “Where? In Grosse Pointe, near your folks? I’m surprised they don’t just buy one for you.”

“No, in Indian Village, actually. And I don’t want them to buy it for me, thank you very much.” I sighed and squeezed my eyes shut for a second, telling myself not to acknowledge his dig at my privileged upbringing. No need to scrape away the dirt over that old argument. “The house is a big old thing that needs lots of work and costs way more than I can afford, but for whatever reason…” I looked at him and lifted my shoulders. “I have to have it. I know it’s not practical. But I have to have it. And I want to do it myself.”

Nick eyed me, toying with the small glass of bourbon in his hand. After a moment, he tipped it back and set down the glass. “I think I can help you.”

My heart raced. “You’ll do it?”

He nodded. “Yes. But—”

Without thinking, I jumped off my chair and threw my arms around his neck. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I was completely breathless, either from excitement or the way our bodies were suddenly pressed together. He might have been a little stunned too because it took him a second to return the hug, but eventually his arms wrapped around my lower back and his knees widened so he could pull me in closer, my hips now cradled between his legs.

Erin’s voice rang in my ears, telling me this hug was a Very Bad Idea, and yet I couldn’t peel myself off him. Not when his hands began sliding up and down my sides. Not when he turned his face into my hair and inhaled. Not even when I felt his chest pushing against my aching breasts and realized it was because he was breathing heavy.
God, he feels good. And smells good. And I bet if I turned my head just so, put my mouth to his neck, and then licked that spot below his ear that used to make him crazy, he’d taste good too.

What? No. No licking.

Friends do not lick one another.

Somewhere inside my head, common sense spoke up—the voice I depend on to tell me I don’t need a second piece of tiramisu or a fourth pair of red heels. I released my hold on Nick. “Sorry,” I said bashfully, backing up to my chair again. “I’m a little carried away. You have no idea what this means to me.” My heart was still beating overtime, and I couldn’t keep a smile off my face.

“No complaints here.” Nick fidgeted in his seat, adjusting his jeans, and I laughed silently, thinking that I’d probably just made the fit a little more snug in the crotch. “But don’t get too carried away yet,” he went on. “You don’t know what I’m asking in return. Maybe you’ll think the price is too high.”

“What do you mean? Angelina won’t care what your price is—she said she’d pay whatever.”

“Not my price for her. My price for
you
.” On the word you, he poked me in the sternum.

I crossed my arms. This was
just
like him, or at least the old him. Clearly he hadn’t changed much in seven years, gray hairs or not. “OK, Nick. I’ll play along. What’s the price?”

He leaned forward so that we were nearly nose to nose, his expression that of a child who just got away with stealing another cookie from the jar. “You have to spend the weekend with me.”

I was so distracted by the nearness of his mouth, I didn’t fully comprehend what he’d said. My voice came out in a whisper. “What?”

“Spend the weekend with me.”

I shrank back. “Spend the weekend with you Are you crazy? No!”

“Why not?” he asked, like it would be perfectly normal to spend a weekend with someone you hadn’t seen since he ditched you in the Bellagio bridal suite seven years ago.

“Because it’s ridiculous! I can’t even believe you’re asking me to…do that.” I gestured wildly between us, totally hot and bothered.

“Do what?”

“That.”

“I just want to spend time with you,” he said, his face the picture of innocence. “You’re the one who’s reading into it.”

I dropped my hands in my lap and cocked my head. “Really. You ask me to spend the weekend with you and you’re telling me you’re not thinking about sex?”

“Well, now that you mention it—”

“I’m not mentioning it. I’m vetoing it. Unequivocally.” I looked at the glasses on our wooden tray, desperate to find some drop of alcohol we’d overlooked. The absinthe was the only thing left, and even though it wasn’t my favorite, I took a less-than- advisable sized swallow. And then another, grimacing as the alcohol burned its way down my esophagus.

“What’s the problem?” he asked.

“You. Trying to get me in bed after all these years.”

“I’m not trying to get you in bed, Coco. I mean, I wouldn’t kick you out of it, but I was serious about wanting to spend time with you. Look.” He put his hands on the tops of my legs and leaned into me, the bastard. “I know you don’t really forgive me for leaving you in Vegas. And maybe you’re right—maybe getting married so young was a dumb idea, maybe it would have failed anyway, but leaving the way I did was wrong, and I’ve spent the last seven years feeling horrible about it. We spent all that time together, and I don’t even know you anymore. I’d like to know you again. As a human being. As a friend. That’s all.”

It was exactly what I’d been thinking earlier, but somehow it didn’t sound plausible coming from him. “This would be a little more convincing if your hands weren’t on my thighs.”

“But I like your thighs.”

My brain struggled to move beyond the feeling of his palms through the fabric of my dress. I had the crazy feeling that if I lifted my skirt I’d see his handprints burned into my skin. “Is this how you get to know all your female friends? Invite them to move in for a weekend?”

“Not all of them. Just the hot ones.”

“Funny.”
He still thinks I’m hot.
Warmth flooded my veins. I was starting to get that dangerous feeling, the one I get when I really, really want something, and no matter how impractical the shoe or fattening the cheesecake or expensive the scotch, I just can’t bring myself to walk away. How easy,
how delightful
it would be to jump back into his bed. But then what? Could I trust myself not to fall for him again?

No way.

“The answer is no, Nick. We can have a drink, go for coffee, watch a movie or something.
That
is what friends do.”

He shrugged. “But that’s boring. And I really don’t have that much free time. In fact, I have to be in L.A. on Monday, then New York for a while, and after that, Chicago.”

“Wow. That’s a lot of traveling.” My chest caved a little. For some reason, the thought that he wouldn’t be around much made my heart ache—what the hell was that? And why was he still touching me? Did he know how it clouded my senses?

“Yeah, I’m looking for space to open another restaurant. And I still have to do events for Lick My Plate. I’m under contract for another year.”

“Oh.” My eyes dropped to his chest and arms, admiring the way he filled out his t-shirt, the way tattoos sleeved one arm to the wrist, the other to the elbow. Immediately I wondered about the rest of his body, how much ink he had, and what and where. If I spent the weekend with him, I could find out.

Common sense made a last-ditch effort.

You barely survived the first time he left you. What will you do the next time? Because that’s what he does— fights with merciless charm for what he wants from you until he gets it, and then does something to fuck it all up. He hasn’t changed.

But as my gaze wandered to his hands on my thighs, I thought about the ring I’d placed on his finger. About the one he’d placed on mine. And about our sad, silent ending, which stood in such ugly contrast to our relationship, which had been volatile, yes, but also vibrant and passionate and fun. We hadn’t even had a goodbye fight.

Sighing, I covered his hands with mine, feeling like this moment had been inevitable, no matter how hard I’d tried to forget him. Maybe we needed this.

Maybe this weekend would be our chance for closure, a way to put the past behind us and start over as friends.

“Nick.”

“What? Say yes.” Those huge dark eyes willed me to give in. That voice, low and sweet.

“I want to,” I hedged. “But—”

“I’ll cook for you.”

I groaned. Nick’s cooking made my clothes fall off. “You bastard. You know how I feel about your cooking. This is so unfair.”

He sat back in his chair, finally taking his hands off me. “It will be fun, I promise. And I have to go see Noni tomorrow. You can come with me.”

The name brought a smile. “Really? How is she?” Nick’s grandmother was an adorable spitfire of a woman who baked the best pies in the world, never let five minutes go by without asking, “Are you hungry, honey?” and always referred to me as Nicky’s
lesbian
friend when she meant
Lebanese
. If Noni was involved, I could definitely say yes.

“She’s great. It’s her ninetieth birthday tomorrow, and my family is having a party for her.”

“At the farm?”

“At the farm.”

“The farm where you plucked my virginity from me as easily as a ripe apple from a tree?”

His jaw dropped in mock outrage. “Easy! I had to work hard for that apple! For months I had to pet the tree, kiss the tree, sweet talk the tree—“

“You
lied
to the tree.”

“I did. I did lie to the tree.” He looked not at all contrite. “But I’m not sorry, because it was the most delicious apple I’ve ever had in my entire life. I’ve never had one better.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Never had one better? Not ever, not even with all the… fruit you’ve eaten with fancy reality TV people?”

He shook his head. “Not ever.”

I pursed my lips, not really sure whether I believed him, but not really sure I cared if he was lying, either. And bantering with him like this felt so natural, so good. I’d missed the playful way we used to tease each other when things were good between us. “OK, Nick. If I say yes, there are some rules for the weekend.”

He grinned. “So you’ll do it?”

“I’ll do it.” I held up three fingers. “On three conditions.”

“Which are?”

“Number one. No talking about the past. I don’t want to spend two days arguing with you over who was right and who was wrong and who cheated and who lied and what we could-have should-have done differently. Let’s leave the past alone.”

“Next?”

“Nick!” I slapped his shoulder. “Do you agree to no talking about the past?”

“Jeez, you’re always hitting me. I forgot about that. Fine, no talking about the past. Although there were plenty of good times too.”

“Yes, there were, but we’re going to leave the memories alone. Now, number two. This weekend is not to be seen as an opportunity for a second chance. We are friends hanging out and going to see Noni.”

His full lower lip protruded a little, but he shrugged. “I can handle it.”

“And number three.” I pinned him with a cold, hard stare. “No. Sex.”

He laughed. “OK, if you think you can stick to that.”

I slapped his shoulder again. “God, you’re so arrogant. Of course I can stick to that. It’s
my
rule.”
Please, please, Lord, help me stick to that.

“Relax, Coco. I’m kidding. God, next you’ll say No Scrabble and the whole weekend is shot.”

I lifted my chin. “Scrabble is permissible. In fact, I’d enjoy the chance to obliterate your ass at Scrabble again.”

“When did you ever obliterate my ass at Scrabble?”

“All the time! Is that gray hair affecting your memory or what?” I went to ruffle his hair but he ducked, grabbing my wrist again.

“Look at you, you can’t keep your hands off me,” he said, laughing as I tousled his hair with my other hand. He
hated
when anyone messed with his hair.

“Ha! Can too.” But I knew I’d be battling the urge to touch him all weekend long.

“Then it’s a deal.” He offered his hand, and I took it, giving it one solid pump before letting it go. The less physical contact between us, the better. “But from here on out,” he went on, “
I
get to make the rules. After all, you’re the one who needs me to do the favor.”

“Fine,” I said. “But no tricks.”

“I’m offended you’d even suspect it.”

I rolled my eyes. “This from the guy who tried to claim zyzzyv was a word.”

“Excuse me, it was zyzzyva, and it was totally a word. We looked it up, remember?”

I held up a hand. “Please. Before we looked it up, you did not know it was a tropical snouted weevil or whatever, and you snuck the ‘a’ on the end when I wasn’t looking.”

Nick looked smug. “Doesn’t matter. It was a word. I won.”

“You cheated. Once a cheater, always—”

He held up a finger and clucked his tongue.

“Ah, ah, ah. You just broke rule number one. No talking about the past. Two and three can’t be far behind.” He winked at me. “Come on, let’s go back to my apartment and bake a cake for Noni. I’ll let you lick the beaters while I watch.”

“Nick.” A warning. “You promised.”

“I know.” His eyes glittered with mischief. “That’s why there will be no frosting put on your body and licked off. Absolutely none.”

“Nick!”

Ignoring me, he signaled Sebastian and pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “I should check in at the restaurant before we go. Are you hungry?”

I was turned on, that’s what I was, and if he was going to keep flirting with me like this, I was in so, so much trouble. In fact, I actually felt light-headed. Was it him or was it the booze without dinner?

“Yes, I am hungry. Can I grab a quick bite there?”

“Absolutely. I’ve got a burger on the menu I bet you’ll love. You inspired it, in fact.”

“Oh yeah? What’s it called, the Bitch Burger?”

He smiled as he pulled a few bills from his wallet and laid them on the bar. “No, it’s called a Beirut Burger. It’s got ingredients in it found in Lebanese cooking.”

My heart fluttered. “Really? Sitty would be so pleased.”

“How is she?” Nick took my arm to help me off the chair. He also reached down and picked up my purse, handing it to me as we walked toward the door.

“Thanks.” I slung it over my shoulder, remembering how I’d always liked Nick’s manners. He might have been a flirt, but he was always quick to open a door, pull out my chair, give me his jacket when I was cold. “She’s the same as ever. Quiet and observant but always ready to cut you to pieces with a remark carefully crafted to make it seem like she’s just confused about something when really she’s being critical.” I affected my grandmother’s accent and tone as I rubbed at the words tattooed on my wrist. “Oh, sorry, habibi. I thought it was dirt.”

Nick laughed. “My mother feels the same way about mine, but never says anything. Just sort of stares at them, like they might disappear if she concentrates hard enough.”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t even get me started on my mother. Hey, thank you for the drinks, by the way. I’ll get the next round.”

“You’re welcome.” He pushed open the door for me, and we walked back down to The Burger Bar. The sun had set, and more people were lingering out in front of popular places like Slows and The Sugar House. The Burger Bar had a line too.

“There might not be a seat for me,” I said as we entered. The music seemed louder, the crowd noisier. “This is a popular place.”

“Oh, I think I can squeeze you in somewhere. Give me a minute.” He patted my shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen, and I stared at his ass as he walked away, thinking that I’d like to squeeze
him
in somewhere. A couple places, actually.

I chewed on one side of my lower lip. Had I really made a no-sex rule? Perhaps I’d been too hasty. Perhaps there was some…
wiggle
room allowed when good friends spent the weekend together. A moment later Nick re-appeared with an extra bar stool, which he fit in at the end of the bar, flirting shamelessly with the woman whose chair he had to move in order to make a spot for me. Years ago I’d have been furious at the way he made another woman blush and giggle, but now I sort of liked the way she eyed me with jealous appreciation after seeing how solicitous Nick was of me, how eager to please.

While I waited for my food, I watched him move through the restaurant, greeting customers, taking pictures with fawning women, and stopping to chat with tables here and there. I had no doubt his down-to-earth nature and friendly accessibility was part of what made his place so popular. As cocky as he was, it didn’t seem like he’d let his success go to his head. He worked as hard as the servers, no task beneath him—he delivered meals, poured beers, mopped up spills, replaced napkins, checked the restrooms. I smiled at his disheveled hair when he brought me my burger and fries. After setting it in front of me, he stole a fry from my plate.